The flow of thought upon the paper,
tapers from a distant time.

Lines once written, lost in meaning,
meaning more or less the same.

Time goes on, the author doesn’t…
whispers still reach out to mind.

Calling thoughts and skills to deepen
Once language ends; then ends it’s time.

Poet, though I feel thy sorrow,
Yet, let not it be my own.

Learn from thee, I have, and opened
To the light, my poets mind.